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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919925">Beauty and the Beast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouralittle/pseuds/pouralittle'>pouralittle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prohibition [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Gen, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:40:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouralittle/pseuds/pouralittle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The source of Jakweenie's heartbreak.</p><p> </p><p>or</p><p> </p><p>“Me too.” He studies her for a moment, and then flickers his gaze toward the window behind her. The open casement facilitates a light draft into her bedroom. “You need some air?”</p><p>“I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep.” She whispers. “And I want to run away. And I want to get married, to you, and I want to have children. And then die --”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minor or Background Relationship(s), Queenie Goldstein &amp; Tina Goldstein, Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prohibition [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Beauty and the Beast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>'(one-shot) in a series'</p><p>Part of the Vale of Tears universe. Prior to Christmas 1926.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***</p><p> </p><p>It’s raining.</p><p> </p><p>Queenie steps into the back alleyway, hurrying towards the end and takes a left. She slinks up flush against the brick wall. Golden curls, weighed down, long, stick to her face. She looks up. The piping and veranda above her provide some shelter during the storm, some momentary respite.</p><p> </p><p>And turning around, she kneels down, her forehead touching the wet bricks as she slips out a cigarette and lighter from her purse. Queenie leans over the flame flickering from the tip of her lighter. The cigarette is stashed between her teeth, and it catches light, leaving a gentle glow to emanate from the filter. </p><p> </p><p>She snuffs out the flame then and inhales, watching the rain and the shadows scintillating at the mouth of the alley, under the streetlamp. She waits. And releases her breath into the night.</p><p> </p><p>Jacob appears out of the darkness, handsome, smiling -- the softest soul she’s ever seen. The quietest too. He approaches with an umbrella, reaching out his hand to tap on her trembling shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey sunshine.”</p><p> </p><p>And it feels like a lie, because she knows she looks sad, that she’s sopping wet, her clothes dripping and completely saturated. A water beast. But Jacob looks at her kindly, still, always.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you smoked.” He says. Queenie stands up; he helps her. “Are you alright?” </p><p> </p><p>“Do you love me?” Queenie utters, taking a long drag of her cigarette, examining Jacob in a way she’s sure is unnecessary, because she knows the answer that’s coming.</p><p> </p><p>“You know I do, sweetheart.”</p><p> </p><p>But it’s not enough. It’s suffocating. The thought of not being with him, not seeing him anymore. She feels all the smoke swirling in her lungs, the ash there, the breathlessness of cold, hard truth.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, Jacob understands. “You know I’ll never leave you, right? Even when I’m not there.”</p><p> </p><p>And Queenie breathes finally, exhaling, releasing the gentle waft of a white fog oscillating upward. A cloudy dream extinguishing overhead the city that never sleeps. The place she once called home. She once loved as much as she does this person.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it safe?” He asks. </p><p> </p><p>Queenie thinks of London, what a suddenly beautiful place it is, its farther-reaching, unconditional acceptance -- and butts out her cigarette on a brick jutting out, antithetical to the rest, on the wall. The odd one. </p><p> </p><p>She watches black ash cascade down from her cigarette’s filter then, before she drops the tube into the puddle below. It fizzles. Jacob clears his throat -- and Queenie strides up to him, her mind open to the world, consuming all the static of everyone’s thoughts, desires, intents, feelings. She actually doesn’t know the proximity of everyone else, she realises, but it doesn’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>Being with Jacob, is like being alone. Left to herself. To just be in one place, one moment, one relationship.</p><p> </p><p>Queenie kisses him, scampering her lips over his. And he holds her with his palm on the side of her cheek, fingertips beneath her hair, to grasp her head, her noisy Pandora’s box.</p><p> </p><p>“Please be careful, Queenie.” He says between the probable blooms of reek in her smoky breath. How he does not pull away quite yet, moves her, fills her with fervour. She slips her tongue into the parting between his lips, and she tastes the pastries that he presumably ate this morning, but also, the apple strudel she made him. It’s like finding her other half. A self-restoration.</p><p> </p><p>And she doesn’t believe, that there could possibly be a life, without both halves. Don’t leave, she begs. Don’t leave. Her pleas seem to echo inside her.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn’t stop begging, even though, Queenie knows he can’t read her thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, when she gazes up at the stars, she considers her fate written up in there. Like a map, a story, some truth she won’t learn to read until her final moment. And she longs for it, to see into the future, to be able to undo every wrongful choice, every harm she may unintentionally cause. But she knows that’s not likely to happen. She knows she’s lucky to just have legilimency, even if it’s more curse than blessing.</p><p> </p><p>“Queenie.”</p><p> </p><p>She turns to find the voice. Jacob stands at the entrance of her bedroom, holding onto a niffler, tight. His smile wavers.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you upset, honey?”</p><p> </p><p>She feels herself frowning before she can stop it; the wave of deep-rooted sadness trickling off her soul, if waves could trickle. The tears come now, an irrevocable force, a promise unpromised.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Jacob sets down the niffler and it scurries out of the bedroom into the hallway. Queenie hears the words, accio niffler -- and she’s sure at least that Jacob will be forgiven when he comes to her side, all attention and no regard for anything else.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired.” She says, sensing the weight of her lip increasing, growing heavier, much heavier.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too.” He studies her for a moment, and then flickers his gaze toward the window behind her. The open casement facilitates a light draft into her bedroom. “You need some air?” </p><p> </p><p>“I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep.” She whispers. “And I want to run away. And I want to get married, to you, and I want to have children. And then die --”</p><p> </p><p>“Die?” Jacob interrupts, pain lurching in his voice, measuring up against the dark abyss burrowing into her soul. As if to determine, which is darker, which is worse, more aggrieved.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, become an old lady, feed the grandchildren, get Dragon Pox, maybe. Oh, I’d be so happy, Jacob, if I could just do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can.” He replies, rubbing her back in slow circles, probably because she’s crying, and that’s what people do. And she feels like she can’t breathe still. “You just - you won’t be married to me.” He adds quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Queenie pulls away from him then, traipsing past him, and being bold for once, as she exits the privacy of her bedroom and into the hallway, into the living room.</p><p> </p><p>Jacob follows her tentatively as she pulls up in front of Tina and Newt seated on the couch. Newt is writing in his journal, briefcase wedged between his feet, and Tina is tucked beside him, her knees gently knocking against his as she skims a newspaper. They jointly look up at Queenie, furrowing their brows almost in the same instant upon seeing her. </p><p> </p><p>“Teen.” Queenie acknowledges, thinking of childhood confessions and admissions, thinking of truths and lies, of breakdowns and crying. “Newt.” She says too, because he’s family now, but really, because he happens to be there. “We gotta - we gotta do something. People like us can’t go on like this. I don’t wanna hide my affections. I ain’t happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Queenie.” Jacob calls her name from behind her. “It’ll be easier if I leave.”</p><p> </p><p>A guttural sound escapes her mouth. “No.” It’s the most serious she’s ever sounded. “No, don’t give this up. Don’t give us away.” Queenie spins to face him, lowering her voice, pleading again, like always. “We can’t let them win, honey. We can’t. I won’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“But sweetheart, they already won. Hmm? It’s law. And this, what we have - is -is -”</p><p> </p><p>“Say it.” Queenie presses him, she pushes him as hard as she can. To hammer him into waking up like she has.</p><p> </p><p>“Is wonderful. But - “</p><p> </p><p>Queenie waits for him to finish, but he doesn’t. Tina approaches Queenie quietly then and pulls her toward her chest to cry. But there aren’t any sobs left inside her, so she just rests there, smelling her sister’s perfume that’s remarkably similar to Ma’s. Sweet lavender. Sunday mornings. Baths. And french toast.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you consider moving to England?” Tina mentions calmly.</p><p> </p><p>Silence. Queenie is too exhausted to talk.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s still a lot of discrimination there.” Newt murmurs quietly after. “You won’t be imprisoned, only-”</p><p> </p><p>“We still won’t be free. You won’t be happy.” Jacob completes Newt’s sentence, and it’s as if the both of them had already discussed it, decided on the fact. And Queenie can see the tears in Jacob’s eyes from it, the redness forming, the heartbreak it caused in believing that.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care.” Queenie admits.</p><p> </p><p>Jacob shakes his head. “I do. Your happiness matters to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d be happier <em> with </em> you.” Queenie fights her way out of Tina’s embrace and forces her hand into Jacob’s, to hold, to remember, to shout at him without shouting -- that yes, have mercy, she would die before giving up on them.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s plenty lads like me. A love that won’t mean you’ll be locked up, or hurt, or slighted. ” Jacob insists.</p><p> </p><p>But Queenie knows -- and it’s maybe from the first moment Ma read to her No-Maj fairy tales, and her favourite was Beauty and the Beast; she was the beast -- that she isn’t meant for an easy kind of love. Hers is the kind of wars, tragedy and bright, shooting stars. Hers is the brilliance of an ill-fated beauty. Destined for terrible greatness. The slow crashing of a train wreck into the white mountain. And the deep mark it left on the mountainside that would eventually become a valley. And people would live there, would travel there, would love there, where she once could not.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Share your thoughts. I live for them &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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